Burning Passion
by subconscious-majesty
Summary: Winston was writing his thoughts in a diary when O'Brian came...


'I know in that exactly moment the Party is reading everything I write. Well, I will continue to anyway. I am not writing for them, but for'

Winston stopped right there. Who is he writing for? No one comes to mind. For all the Proles, maybe? Yes, for the Proles. If there is hope, it must lie in the Proles. They are the last hope, the last human beings, the only ones who are not alienated - not yet.

'but for the Proles', he wrote.

But can the Proles do anything? Probably the Party will erase this text before it reach their hands. But for who is he writing then? Who is he trying to fool? Why the birds sing? Because of the pleasure of doing so. Or only because they can. That's why he is writing. For no one in particular. If anyone outside the Party read this one day, great, but that's not his aim. It's not exactly a diary, but a 'everyday-thought organizer'. That way is less feminine.

He risked the words 'the proles' and put a period. Then it was like this 'I am not writing for them, but for.' Nonsense, but that doesn't matter. He just felt sorry for the paper, now dirt and ugly. The paper was so beautiful, of an adorable cream color, and he bought it in the black market. And now it was dirt...

'I am writing for no one in particular, but I dedicate partially for my brother O'Brian, the only person in this mad world who understands me.'

No, it's bad. And what if the Party read this? - and obviously they will. He can't involve O'Brian. It would be better to not give names, the Party can think they are working something together. Winston rip off that page and decided to start it over, without introductions.

'Today my work was boring, as always. How is good to think I help the Party's manipulating! The fault for the world be like that is half mine! I can sleep peacefully knowing I am doing my part for the well being of the humanity.'

'Between all the notes, notices and names manipulated, one in particular marked me. The ultimate proof. The photo that can start the so-awaited rebellion. The photo of three men accused for many crimes - the same shit (remember to not use that word anymore) as always: murder, spreading diseases, etc etc etc. I can not record the names now, but I will write if I remember (look how the Party makes us forget things). I saw them in the Chestnut Tree Cafe. One of them seemed sad - crying. It dids not look like he was happy and loving the Big Brother as he said, probably because he was not. In the photo they were together, happy, on a later date they were declared unpersons (remember to not use the Newspeak anymore), their existences completely denied. Not that I did not know all the information was manipulated - everyone on the Ministry of Truth knows it, but a solid proof costs more than a memory. I took this photo and I will put it here on the next page.'

'Some days ago - I do not know how many, I went to the cinema. It was a movie that did not have a plot, just people exploding, dying, get killed, raped, dismembered, and it was supposed to be a comedy. Everyone was laughing and I laughed too just to not be suspiscious. I know my forced laugh was way more suspiscious, but there was a lady who could not supress herself. She screamed that was a shame, offensive, nonsense, that seeing people dying, even children, is not funny, and no one should laugh (sorry for all the commas) and then they gently took her off the room, with kicks and screamings.'

If the Everyday-Thought Organizer (ETO for short) is to write everything he cannot say, he shouldn't eat words. Winston will die just for starting the ETO, doesn't matter what's wrote in it. So he decided to write his biggest secrets.

'I never had good experiences with woman. One time a laid with a maked-up lady for two dollars and I discovered she was a ugly untoothed old bag. My missing woman Katharina was tougher than a wax statue, was stupid and said things like 'let's make our duty to the Party'. I'm disgusted just to remember, thanks we didn't have children. Now I'm with other nonwife, her name is Julia. She is WAY more not indifferent than my not-officially-ex wife, but... She loves me, but I don't know. I can't stop thinking about O'Brian. O'Brian... That tought face, rigid voice, rough body...'

Winston stopped writing again. He's starting to scare himself. He put his ETO above the desk - they will find it anyway, so there's no reason to hide it. He laid down to sleep, but couldn't. 'They always come at night', that's what they say, and it's true. In the end the person no longer exists, was eliminated, but before that? What happens after they come to your home and before you disappear completely stills a mistery. There's no concrete fact, but a million stories. One of them says they will kill through your door, throw a light bomb and took you in hiding. Other says it really is a deformed creature with big arms and horns, that rapes you until you lose your conscience, and then they erase you. Not that Winston believed in these stories, but he can't help being a little afraid.

He couldn't sleep because he have to look at the door, but he have to not look suspicious. So he decided to stay awake playing stupid mind games. He thought a word: 'Love'. Heart. Organ. Music. Sexophone. Cafe. Photo. Rebelion. No, he's entering a dangerous zone, he have to start over again.

'Julia'. No a word, but the woman who is sleeping next to him. He is naked, so is her. They didn't make sex this day, but he is fine with it. He don't want any baby.

Looking at the bed again, she is not there. He tried to get up in a hurry, but he couldn't. He was handcuffed to the bed. 'So, she is into these things?', Winston though, calm but a little scared. It can be Julia or the Party. Think closely, it doesn't make much sense to be Julia. Even if he is naked, his chest is turned down, to the bed. So, it must be...

O'Brian entered the room, Julia behind him. 'I'm sorry', he could read her lips. Sorry for what?

'Hello, Winston, my brother. I see you're awake.', O'Brian said. But Winston didn't sleept... Didn't he? 'You wake up just in time to learn the truth.', he opened up the door and let Julia go. She said 'I'm sorry' again, in silence. 'Don't think she will not learn her lesson, she will. Just with other person in other room.'

'What are you doing here, my brother? ...Something about the Brotherhood?', Winston asked, but O'Brian didn't answer. He started to walk around the room, until he pick up the cream-colored diary and give it back to Winston.

'Continue to write. It's a diary, you have to. No lies allowed.'.

How did he knows it? Must be a Telescreen around the room, maybe behind the curtains, or the portraits. Someone close, like the room owner, must work for the Party. The Miniluv, maybe.

'Why are you not writing? You don't know what? Why not the result of 2 + 2?'

What kind of question was that? Without think too much, Winston wrote '2 + 2 = 4'. O'Brian quickly nod in disapproval. 'How can you prove that's not 3 or 5? 33 or over 9000?'

'Easy', Winston explained, 'Take these two fingers and more two fingers and you will have four fingers. Not 3, 5 or whatever.'

'But how do you know you have four fingers here, not five?'

'I just know. I learned to count a long time ago, probably just like you.'

'But now the Big Brother says it's five fingers here. And you can't prove otherwise. Write the truth now.'

Winston really wasn't understanding what's going on there. O'Brian works in a Ministry? Why he wants so much to prove that 2 + 2 is not 4? Like said, he wrote '2 + 2 = 5'. O'Brian didn't like also.

'You're writing it, but not feeling it.' O'Brian is handing a meat blade, a large and sharp one. He put it closer to Winston's right-hand and cut off one finger. Winston tried not to scream, but couldn't help himself when O'Brian cut off his others three fingers. Now he only have the thumb. The white bed was red-colored when he proceed cutting off the four fingers of the other hand. When finished, O'Brian just threw the eight fingers on the carpet. 'Now you have three fingers.'

'No', Winston said while amounts of salt saliva goes out of his mouth. 'Two finger. 10 - 8 = 2'

'You don't learn. Stop trying to think by yourself. You know nothing but lies. Big Brother is the truth. 2 + 2 = 5, why can't you assimilate it? Why so insane?'

'I'm sane', Winston screamed, crying. 'I'm sane, even when I try to believe 2 + 2 = 5, I know it's 4'

'Your head is always lying to you. You have to believe Big Brother over yourself. Try to concentrate and write again.'

Winston looked at the page of the diary. 2 + 2 = 4, 2 + 2 = 5. The first is a lie. He doesn't have fingers to count, but he have to believe that 2 + 2 = ... 4... No... 4444... 44444444444444444444444444444. 'STOP!'

O'Brian put a small cage over the bed but in a place Winston couldn't see what's inside. He opened the cage from a little door on the top and put his hand inside. Winston though he heard a noise, but could be just a hallucination caused by the pain. It was rat noises, and he have a mortal fear of rats since he saw his mother's and sister's dead bodies getting eaten by some. The hallucination became so real that he saw a little rat on O'Brian's hand... Wait... Winston started to scream 'no' many times in a row. He tried to say to keep those things away from him, but he couldn't. All he said was Julia's name. Yes, Julia. O'Brian can throw the rat on her. He can cut off the top of her head, rape her with a fork, reach her brain through her nose. Hell, he can do whatever he wants on her.

No use. His biggest nightmare came true and it's very close to him. O'Brian separated Winston's buttocks with one hand and helped the rat to go throught inside his anus with the other. Winston cried madly. 'No, Julia!', he said, while feeling the little animal running and scratching inside him. It only will stop when reach his stomach, and probably will eat its flesh.

'Now you can think clearly, I suppose. So, write there. How many fingers I have here?', O'Brian said, showing two finger of each hand. 'Hint: it's equal two plus two.'

'How am I suppose to write with no fingers and a rat running on my intestine?!', Winston cried maniacally. He can just write with his tooth, O'Brian said. He tried and tried and tried. With the worse letters of the worlds, Winston wrote an ugly and unreadable 'I love BB'. That's right. No matter what is the question, Big Brother will be the answer. He always is. How he didn't noticed it before? Who cares if it's four or five, what O'Brian tried to show him is that Big Brother is bigger than anything. 'Thanks, O'Brian. I knew you were on my side...', Winston thought, the happier he could, while tears rolls down his face.

A smiling O'Brian took the diary from him and threw it at the fire. Winston was supposed to be sad, his life memories are burning on fire. But it really matter? He really lived? He existed on day? He loves the Big Brother, fuck the rest.

Winston's life memories fade away. The words 'I love BB' were the last ones to burn, like his passion, in the fire. Everything is over now.


End file.
